


Overwatch Stories: Angela

by agfinn



Series: Overwatch Stories [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Medical Procedures, Overwatch HQ, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Science, Science Experiments, Sort Of, Young Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, a bunch of different episodes on Angela's life - some in chronological order, some not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14130768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agfinn/pseuds/agfinn
Summary: This story will stay largely canon-compliant, but because of the lack of canon material I've taken a bunch of creative freedoms in order to write an interesting story about Dr. Angela Ziegler, how she obtained codename: Mercy, and all other types of shenanigans that went on at the Swiss HQ before the fall of Overwatch, and possibly even beyond...The rating may change for future chapters.This is my first ever posted fanfiction (and the 2nd one I have ever written)! Be kind with me.Also, it is not proof-read and English is not my native language - yell at me in the comments if anything is weirdly phrased/wrong.EDIT 2018-07-03: I decided to change the structure of the fic a bit (or a lot), merging a few chapters, and adding to or changing their titles. But the content in them is the same, apart from some grammatical corrections.





	1. Enter, Dr. Angela Ziegler [Autumn 2064]

**Author's Note:**

> This story will stay largely canon-compliant, but because of the lack of canon material I've taken a bunch of creative freedoms in order to write an interesting story about Dr. Angela Ziegler, how she obtained codename: Mercy, and all other types of shenanigans that went on at the Swiss HQ before the fall of Overwatch, and possibly even beyond... 
> 
> The rating may change for future chapters.
> 
> This is my first ever posted fanfiction (and the 2nd one I have ever written)! Be kind with me.
> 
> Also, it is not proof-read and English is not my native language - yell at me in the comments if anything is weirdly phrased/wrong.
> 
> EDIT 2018-07-03: I decided to change the structure of the fic a bit (or a lot), merging a few chapters, and adding to or changing their titles. But the content in them is the same, apart from some grammatical corrections.

 

 

Zürich, Switzerland; Autumn 2064

 

_“A medical genius”_ , _“revolutionizing medicine”_ , _“The Global Association of Medicine’s Medical Scientist of 2064 Award”_ ; the accolades were many but, frankly, Dr. Angela Ziegler didn’t care much for them. In fact, whenever she saw her name or picture printed in an idolizing fashion in any of the medical journals she subscribed to, she tended to get a headache.

Sure, it was nice being appreciated, but Angela preferred the direct sort of appreciation that came with saving someone’s life, over the type of appreciation that meant being forced upon a stage at a medical conference or science gala to accept an award or hold a lecture. Being applauded and fussed over by people she considered to be her professional peers wasn’t really to her liking, even if she understood the semantics behind it.

Angela had graduated her studies in medicine at a previously unprecedented age of 21 – after graduating High School at just barely 16 years old – in her native country of Switzerland, and quickly finished up her surgical residency and risen in the ranks among her fellow surgeons at the hospital that hired her after graduation. By 24 years of age she had been appointed Head of Surgery at said hospital – that too previously unprecedented for someone her age. She was widely considered to be a true medical genius.

The Doctor had been very young when her parents had passed away; unfortunate victims of the Omnic Crisis that spread like a plague over the world in the late 2040’s. Both had been physicians, drafted as first responders for the Swiss Army when the Omnic war-machine had crossed into Switzerland through the German border. Then and there – eight years old, accompanied by her aunt on her parents’ joint funeral – Angela had decided that she would carry on their legacy whatever it took. She would heal the injured and cure the sick, and she would make her parents _proud_ of her. And most importantly, she would make sure that other children had the possibility to grow up with their parents’ still alive.

Unfortunately, as much as Angela loved helping people heal and recover from injuries, she recognized that whatever impact she could do for the greater good would be minimal if she constantly had her hands buried in a human body on a surgeon’s table. It didn’t take long for Angela to realize, that to make an _actual_ difference in the world she was best put to work researching and advancing the medical craft.

When the Omnic Crisis was eventually beaten down by the United Nation’s-created strike force Overwatch in 2049, a golden age of science bloomed. Progress was made in several branches of science, especially at the many universities in the previously war-torn Europe. But there was still much that could be done, for science, for medicine, and for everyday people. And so, Angela managed to negotiate within her contract 35 of her 50 weekly hours set aside purely for her own research.

The hospital board had been reluctant to say the least – practically moving one of the most accomplished surgeons in the entire nation’s history to desk-duty? Absurd. A lucrative offer, however, from Angela’s side – the hospital getting first dibs on whatever Angela’s research amounted to – proved enough to sway most of the board-members in her favor.

Nanobiotics. It was a niche field, that much was certain. The broader part of the global medical establishment had ruled out nanobiology as a viable option for cost-effective, long-term care and medical practice decades prior. The first real experiments with the technology began as early as the 2020’s, after all. The technology was simply too costly and too advanced (or too poorly understood, in Angela’s opinion) to be effectively utilized. If it would work, it would work wonders – was the line – but previous experiments on live subjects had only proved to be very costly wastes of time, that had only prolonged the inevitable death of the trial-participant. Those attempts having resulted in some severe malpractice lawsuits from the patients’ families had dissuaded all but a handful of future attempts at trying to handle the technology.

Angela was determined to change all of that, however. She knew the technology’s true potential was still to be reached, and she knew she could accomplish that given enough time, resources, and trials.

 

///

 

“ _Mein Gott_ , what a complete mess of an evening…” Angela sighed to herself as the door to the hotel-room she was staying in slid shut behind her. She dropped her fashionable clutch handbag on the floor and kicked off her black 3.5’’ stiletto heels. She almost had the urge to moan out loud at finally being out of the cursed footwear. She rubbed her temples as she went over to the wine-refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of fine Riesling that she’d relax with and enjoy while soaking in the bathtub later.

Angela had been one of the nominees for GAM’s Medical Scientist of 2064 Award, and she had ended up winning it too – essentially forcing her to get up on the stage, read a poorly written speech put together by someone who clearly had no medical know-how whatsoever, embarrass herself in front of her peers, while carrying a large smile on her face and representing the very best her employer, and the board behind it, had to offer. A draining charade, was what it was, plain and simple. Angela supposed it came with the work, after all.

Just as she was about to shed her gorgeous satin cocktail-dress in the same pile on the floor as her handbag and shoes there was a knock on the door. Confounded as to who could be seeking her a quarter to midnight, she made her way to the door.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion ma’am,” a hotel-employee excused himself as soon as Angela opened the door, “the reception received mail addressed to you while you were gone. It appears to be from…hmm… _uh.”_ The young man got a startled expression on his face as he read the sender’s address.

“From…?”

“I-it appears to be from the… Strike Commander of Overwatch, ma’am.” The man replied, looking up at Angela with newfound admiration in his eyes.

Angela was just as confused as the hotel employee before her seemed to be. Nevertheless, she accepted the letter. The receptionist assured her the letter had been properly scanned, so as not to be a fake containing any type of harmful substance – the hotel was under strict security because of the large medical convention it was assisting with housing.

The receptionist bid her goodnight, and Angela was left staring at the envelope in her hands. She had an idea of what it contained and opening the letter to confirm daunted her. She decided to deal with whatever the letter contained after her relaxing bath and wineglass.

It had been what she suspected; a recruitment-offer. Angela had seen this coming from a mile away; she had no illusions of grandeur, but she mused that it had only been a matter of time before Overwatch set their sights on one of Europe’s most well-known surgeons and medical scientists.

Angela had glanced over the formally written offer, lingering at the signatures of the UN-appointed Overwatch Director Bill Petras and Strike Commander Jack Morrison. The letter claimed they would be proud to have _“the esteemed Dr. Ziegler”_ as part of their medical team at their global HQ located in Geneva, _“spearheading the future advancements within the medical field and aiding in worldwide conflict resolution and peace-keeping”_. Angela shook her head and discarded the letter on the kitchen-isle.

“Pfft. ‘Peace-keeping’,” Angela muttered to herself, “more like ‘strike-forcing’ and ‘militarizing’.”

What Overwatch had done for humanity during the Omnic Crisis was the sole reason for humanity’s current, prosperous state – Angela would have to be a complete fool to believe otherwise. But what Overwatch _had done_ – repelling the advancing Omnic war-machine that was threatening to bring humanity to its very knees – had still ended up costing tens of thousands of lives, and countless amounts of human suffering. No matter what fancy words one dressed the organization up in, Angela held the opinion that at the end of the day the organization was still a military one, composed of some of the UN-members’ most notable and commended military experts and soldiers. Angela was a staunch believer in world-wide peace, after all.

Angela was aware the Overwatch and its affiliates also employed thousands of scientists all over the world, being a contributing factor to the enormous advancements that had been made in many different scientific fields during the past decade or so, but in her opinion that did little to take away from the fact that Overwatch was a de facto global army completely at the beck and call of the most influential members of the United Nations. To herself, Angela cynically remarked that there had been a reason that its spiritual predecessor NATO had crumbled under its own weight and the pressure from its members in the early 2040’s, prior to the Omnic Crisis.

Angela left the letter unanswered on the kitchen-isle as she went down to her waiting cab the following morning to travel back to Switzerland.

 

///

 

“Doctor Ziegler. It was fortunate that you could come on such a short notice.” The head of the hospital-board greeted.

“It was urgent, _ja?_ ”

“Indeed. It’s regarding your contract. As I’m sure you’re aware your contract of employment with us will run out at the turn of next year. With only three months until then, we felt it important to start negotiating a new contract as soon as possible.”

“I don’t mind a contract identical to the one I have now, with an inflation-adjusted wage-increase over the following two years obviously.”

“I’m sorry, _Doktor_ , that will not be possible.” A spokesman on the board interjected. Angela shifted her attention to him.

“And why is that…?” she asked him. Several of the board-members exchanged glances with one another, some slightly nervous, and some poignant and insistent. Finally, the chairman of the board spoke up:

“When we look back at the previous two years of your employment, most notably looking at the research-part of your current contract – the one that guarantees your 35 weekly hours of medical research – we have found some rather… worrisome results. Or rather, _lack of_ results.”

“I have filed updates on the progress of my project every two weeks as agreed upon.” Angela pointed out. She couldn’t help but feel a bit defensive.

“You have. But when we compiled the reports we have found a frighteningly little amount of actual progress. Coupled with the tens of millions of _Franken_ we have sunk solely into your research and projects, Doctor Ziegler, and I’m sure you can understand where we’re coming from.”

Angela couldn’t help her voice taking on a hint of ice as she replied:

“What is the result of this _inspection_ , then?”

“The board has made a unanimous decision to pull all excess funding from your research, and have you return to the typical duties as a practicing surgeon and Head of Surgery at this hospital. Your weekly hours will be cut down to 40, as is customary – with no loss to your monthly wage, I assure you.”

“Excuse me, what?” Angela exclaimed, thinking she had completely misheard the chairman.

“Yes. The board was quite united in this decision; the cost of the research you have been doing has simply not been consistent with the very sparse amount of progress we have seen.”

“So, you are saying I’m prohibited from condoning research starting next year…?” Angela could hardly believe her ears.

“Of course not,” one of the female board-members smoothly replied, “you can apply for funding set aside for research, just like any of the other MD’s at this hospital. You are free to seek funding from the government, philanthropists and private investment-companies, just like everyone else, and then apply for worktime-reduction in case you will be starting anew with your research.”

Angela couldn’t believe the gall of the lot of them…! She fought hard to not erupt in an emotional storm and voicing everything that went on in her head – that would most certainly have gotten her contract terminated immediately, and instead schooled her face into a calm and collected mask.

“Say I’d want to negotia—” Angela tried, but was briskly cut off by the same woman who had just patronized her in front of the entire board.

“This is non-negotiable, Ziegler. Take it or leave it. If you find the terms of your new contract impossible to reconcile, we will prepare a generous severance package for your time spent at our hospital and for your generous contributions to our reputation and proceed to terminate your employment at the turn of the year. Feel free to take some time to think about our proposition.” The woman said.

Angela pinched the base of her nose, almost hard enough to cause a bruise it felt like, and steely replied:

“I will convey my decision by the end of next week.” Before briskly walking out of the conference-room.

 

///

 

Almost as some sort of cruel joke, Angela returned home to her apartment to find another letter from Overwatch in her mailbox. It had been some three weeks since she had gotten that first letter during her brief stay in Latvia for GAM’s medical conference and awards ceremony, and she had left it in the hotel-room on purpose thinking that would be the end of that. Honestly, she should have known better.

_“Dr. Angela Ziegler:_

_We never got a reply concerning our previous letter. In case you didn’t receive it, I have attached a copy of it further down. Please know that we have been interested in your work, particularly in your research within the field of nanobiology, for quite a while now – and we would jump at the chance to work with you and have you as a part of our team._

_Sincerely,  
Overwatch Strike Commander Jack Morrison, with colleagues.”_

Angela gave a frustrated sigh as she read the letter, and – quite unbidden – a thought fluttered through her mind; things were going to shit at the hospital she worked at – those greedy, shortsighted _flachwichser_ were making sure of that, and by the end of the year she would either have to accept a new contract that she knew wouldn’t be fulfilling enough for her, or be out of a job. She might as well contact Overwatch and accept for the position immediately, she thought cynically.

If Angela was sure of one thing, however, it was that she would do her best to go out with a bang, so to speak. She would make sure to invest every single penny the board had pledged for her research before the year was over, and she would make sure to get some results. Even knowledge that she could store inside her head for future reference could prove important if she would have to start all over again with her research if she accepted Overwatch’s offer.

Then, of course, there was the option of trying to smuggle her research out of the hospital’s lab…

Angela normally didn’t take kindly to lying, and she consciously tried to lie as little as possible. It was one of the few things she could still remember that her mother had taught her – always do what you think is best and always try to speak the truth. However, _possibly_ lying to her greedy, scheming and tragically shortsighted employers about _possible_ research that could _potentially_ have an enormous impact on medicine and human life contradicted the second part of her mother’s most important lesson, even as it fulfilled the first part of it.

Angela decided she didn’t feel particularly conflicted about said contradiction; legally she knew that the hospital owned the rights for whatever her research had amounted to, but morally…? She knew what they would do to the research in question once Angela was released from her contract; they would throw all of it into boxes and file it away in some locked room in the basement of the building, somewhere that the research would never benefit anyone – least of all the people who needed it. Angela knew what she had to do.


	2. Crazy Science [December 2064]

 

 

Zürich, Switzerland; December 2064

 

50-hour work-weeks…? Pfft, try 80. For the past two months Angela had put a considerable amount of overtime into her research; the end of her contract was coming up within less than two weeks. The extra 30 hours she worked each week weren’t even hours she was being paid for, since she clocked out her usual time and then snuck down into the basement-lab again to continue her research off-record. Only someone actively monitoring the security-feeds for hours on end would find her presence there after-hours strange – and considering that said hospital-security left a lot to be wished for in every other aspect, she wasn’t particularly worried.

Angela was confident that she would be able to work undisturbed for the most part, especially considering that she had brought in her private external hard-drive and computer to tie up all her research with. Officially, her research on nanobiology with the hospital-board’s grace had ended the week after they decided to pull the plug on her funding. The time since then she had spent perfecting her formulae, writing down her reports by hand on actual paper to leave as few digital trails as possible, and testing the various new prototypes her research had conjured up.

Computers wasn’t really Angela’s strong suit; she knew her way around most of the hospital’s software and machinery, but she wasn’t a computer-whiz by any stretch of the word. Computer-whiz or no, Angela wasn’t stupid; she knew she had to take precautions when digging up her older data and files. Copying them straight from the hospital’s server to her own hard-drive would most certainly be traceable, but after a night spent with two liters of coffee deep-diving into a grey-hat hacker-community’s self-help page, she managed to find her way around some of the system’s fail-safes. She had accomplished a staggering amount of progress in such a short amount of time.

Speaking of progress; the 3000, or so, hours’ worth of research that Angela had put into her actual project over the past two years was finally bearing fruit. Well, maybe blossoms. It was definitely blossoming at least.

The past two months and her newfound, bordering on hypomanic, dedication to preserving her work and keeping it out of the board’s greedy hands, had been crucial as to create the most stable prototype of her technology to date. She finally had a stable prototype of her very own Ziegler-brand of medical nanites. So far, Angela had established that infection or bacteria-fighting nanites were far away – she simply hadn’t cracked the answer for that yet. However, the successful nanites she had developed could be applied to physical trauma after being instructed on what to do, and they would essentially start putting the affected body back into shape from within.

Being limited by her need to keep her progress secret and the rapidly closing time-frame she had, Angela hadn’t been able to test her prototype nanites on anything other than lab-grown tissue on which she had inflicted a specific, set amount of trauma. Regardless, Angela was confident that given enough time, and eventually gaining access to human trial-patients – maybe something Overwatch could end up helping her with if she decided to pursue her opportunity there – she could ascertain that the nanites would fully function within a living host. After all, lab-grown tissue lacked quite a few factors that would have to be taken into consideration for successful use on living patients – cardiovascular systems and organs to mention two of them.

Angela had planned out her strategy almost to completion, the only obstacle remaining was how to get her prototype out of the building. Truth be told, Angela wasn’t entirely sure what she had done or possibly hadn’t done to get her working prototype, and if she left it behind when her employment was up she couldn’t be sure if she would ever be able to fully replicate it again in a new lab. She wasn’t sure if that was a risk she could afford to take, after all if worst came to worst she could have to spend another 3000 hours before she could manufacture another working prototype. To call it a dilemma seemed like an understatement.

On top of said dilemma, she also had to find a safe way to transport the nanites out of the hospital. Once activated the nanites had very specific criteria that needed to be filled for them not to disassemble after their routine had run its course; temperature, sufficient but not too high kinetic energy output from the bloodstream which the nanites would flow through, and so forth. When dormant the nanites had to be stored in a completely sterile environment, magnetically suspended to not come into contact with any surface whatsoever, also within a specific temperature-frame. It was quite tedious work.

Within the lab that Angela’s research took place the hospital had gotten a special container installed at Angela’s behest several months prior, one that would fill mentioned criteria. The only problem was that the container measured in at about 1 cubic meter in size and volume, bolted to the floor, and weighing in at about 450 pounds. Waltzing out with the container through the front-doors was a no-go, in other words.

Sudden voices outside the laboratory-doors snapped Angela out of her thoughts. She immediately tensed up, some part of her prepared for hospital-security barging in and making a mess. A sound from the speakers in the room signaled that someone had entered the ventilation-chamber outside the actual lab, and Angela immediately got up from her chair to go check whoever else had business in the basement-lab at 11 PM.

Three men were standing in the ventilation-chamber, futilely trying to open the lab-doors through the security console. Angela approached the door and pressed the microphone-button so that she could communicate with the men:

“Good evening,” she began, and all three men jumped at the sudden voice, “sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m in the middle of an experiment right now, so I’ll have to authorize whenever someone wants to enter the lab from the vent-chamber. That’s why you can’t get in.”

“Oh, right. Our boss said something about that, but we figured no one would be here this late at night.”

“I’m afraid I’ll probably be busy here for a few more hours. Maybe you can come back in the morning…?” Angela suggested. She needed to get the men away from the lab. Security staff had all kinds of override-commands that would allowed them access to most rooms in the hospital, but the three men in the vent-chamber were dressed like ordinary janitors.

“We were tasked with coming down here ASAP and start cleaning up for when they’re going to restructure the basement. We really should get started, ma’am.” One of the men said, scratching his beard.

Maybe it was insomnia-fueled paranoia, or maybe it was the subtext of what the man said that put Angela on high-alert. Someone – probably the board – had suspicions about what she was up to and wanted to put an effective stop to it.

“It’s a mess in here, I would have to do some cleaning up myself before you can get to it, I’m afraid.”

“Didn’t someone from the board or some other hotshot contact you?” the men each looked amongst each other, clearly confused about the misunderstanding.

Angela was positive that she hadn’t been told about it. The board was trying to claim what they could before Angela was out of their sights, probably per advice from their grossly overpaid team of lawyers. She realized that she would have to tread carefully in convincing the janitorial-team to return in the morning when Angela had cleared out the lab of everything she needed, but without raising any suspicions.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been briefed at all about this… those darn office-types, am I right…?” Angela lamented with feigned humor, trying to loosen up the men standing outside her lab.

A small smile played over one of the men’s face as he nodded:

“Yeah, if I had gotten a couple of _Frank_ for every time some hotshot higher-upper had failed to give adequate information or miscommunicated with the other parts of this hospital I wouldn’t have to work this sorry-ass job, that’s for sure.” He grumbled. The men behind him mumbled their agreements.

“I sympathize. I might be situated mostly at a desk, but I swear the simple task of delivering in-house mails and notifications seems to be too hard a job for the board-members and their lackeys. Listen, it’s really a mess in here, I had zero clue you were coming in today to pack all the stuff up. Would it be possible for you to come back tomorrow-morning? I’ll finish tidying up a bit in here, and I won’t be here in the morning, so you can work completely undisturbed then.” Angela suggested. She really needed to get these men away from the lab. The men, however, still didn’t look convinced enough to leave.

“Ma’am, we really ought to get started, from what I’ve heard it’s quite a lot of work to be done.”

“I completely understand that,” Angela assured them, “but do you see the containers over there on the desk? They contain biohazardous materials and bacteria that should not be handled by uneducated staff. Do you or your staff-members have experience in handling those material?”

“No.”

“Then, I strongly recommend you leave it to me and come back in the morning.” Angela said, delivering her final ace.

“Tell you what,” the man said after a spell, “you make sure that stuff is taken care of by tomorrow morning, and we won’t bother you tonight, ok?”

“Sounds like a deal.” Angela said, giving them her best smile.

Angela’s smile fell immediately as the men turned around and headed back up to the main-floor; that had been one close call. The board was most certainly on Angela’s trail, and she had less than eight hours to tie up all loose ends in the lab before the crew would be back to clean everything out.

She took a moment to lean against the closed door and just breath. Just a moment though, since her finely tuned timeline had suddenly been jarred completely out of order. She needed to come up with a new plan quickly, or she’d lose everything she had accomplished over the last two years.

After a few minutes of silently analyzing the possible solution to herself, she said out loud:

“You are one crazy woman, Angela Ziegler.” As she walked up to the safe containing the dormant remains of the only batch of her prototype nanites.

 

///

 

The Doctor’s hand had practically been forced after all; Angela was absolutely convinced that she had her heart and mind in the right place, that her dedication and conviction to her cause was just and would help save countless lives in the future. If she survived her last-minute emergency plan, that was.

Time was well past midnight when the machines in the lab finally finished up analyzing Angela’s blood-work and genetic structure. Angela herself had been sitting at her desk, restlessly bouncing her leg and drumming her fingers on the counter-top for some 40 minutes by then. She had written what part of the nanites’ script she could without a full panel of her own blood-work, and then came the next part: manually keying the nanites to Angela’s DNA so that she could transport them in her own body out through the hospital.

She was well-aware of how crazy her idea was. She had questioned her own sanity multiple times during the night, but eventually concluded that an insane person wouldn’t de facto question their sanity in the first place. It was a small comfort, but it was the best she had in the light of possibly either immediate death, drawn-out death, or losing her past two years of work.

Neatly folding all her papers and other gear into her briefcase, and tidying up whatever she could, Angela tried to mentally conjure up the courage to fetch a syringe with saline, draw up the remaining nanites into it, sit down in the chair, tie a tourniquet around her arm and inject herself with them.

Everything Angela knew about her nanites was _theoretical_ , she had done no testing whatsoever on living specimens in all the two years she had worked on the project. The practice of animal-testing was despicable to Angela, but unfortunately, she recognized the scientific need for the practice existing. While the thought of injecting herself with her own technology served to scare Angela halfway out of her mind, it also appealed to her innermost scientist. If it worked, she would technically have completed a human trial – even if it could never be official. If it didn’t work… well, Angela had spent enough time thinking about the multiple ways her idea could backfire.

The nanites had been scripted to not disassemble themselves after injection and simply stay active in Angela’s bloodstream by the kinetic energy the movement of the blood produced. She’d figured that taking a dose of anticoagulants before the was probably wise to minimize the risk of blood-clots, but other than that she couldn’t really perform any other preemptive measures.

With a heavy sigh, Angela eventually sat down in her office-chair, tourniquet wrapped tight around her left arm, and holding a medium-sized opaque syringe containing her nanites in her right hand.

“Here goes nothing…” Angela mumbled to herself as she inserted the needle and pressed the button on the syringe.

While the syringe was depositing its contents into Angela’s bloodstream, she leaned back in the chair and tried her best to relax by taking deep, measured breaths. There was no pain to speak of, only a slight tingling sensation traveling outwards from the injection-site as the nanites spread through her bloodstream.

In a way, Angela supposed, testing her technology on herself first was really the only option that fully aligned with her own morals, and with that thought she removed the empty syringe and forced herself to fully relax and accept whatever would happen next.

A few minutes passed, Angela quietly counting the seconds in her head, and when well over five minutes had passed and she felt no different whatsoever she got up from the chair. No dizziness, no new aches or kinks, normal pulse and temperature, she concluded after a brief physical exam of herself. She dumped the equipment she had just used in the biohazard waste bin, collected her things and left the lab she had spent a good portion of her last two years in for the last time.

 

///

 

She awoke the following morning by a phone-call.

“…hello…” she managed blearily as she accepted the call.

“Doctor Ziegler! It’s chairman Bracher. I know this is a bit unorthodox, I don’t normally make private calls to our employed staff, but I wanted to call you and apologize for our miscommunication regarding last night’s janitorial crew barging in so late to start packing up the lab.” The man on the other end of the line said.

Angela had to take a moment to collect her bearings, she felt terribly tired and her head pounded from a headache that must have sprung up will she slept.

“That’s fine, Mr. Bracher. I was there late last night when they arrived, and we worked it out. They would return this morning I believe to start the work, it was a complete mess down in the lab and the clock was close to midnight.” Angela explained. There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Ah, I see.” Bracher said coolly. Something told Angela that he had known she had been in the lab almost until dawn, and that he didn’t really buy her excuse.

“Well, that is all in the past now anyways. Would you have time to come in later this afternoon for a meeting with the board? There are a few details of your severance-package that we would want to go over to make sure everything is in order for your departure next week.”

“Yes, I can be at the conference-halls by 1 PM today.”

They said their goodbye’s and Angela decided she might as well get up; she still had a lot of stuff to look at regarding her private finances and possibly relocating to Geneva where Overwatch’s headquarters were situated. After all, it would prove quite tedious to travel between Zürich and Geneva on a weekly basis for work. She suspected she would be offered some sort of private quarters on-site, but she was more inclined to own a private apartment a bit away from the HQ so that she could properly relax and unwind after work.

Before she got started with phoning her bank and several housing agents in Geneva she went to the bathroom to freshen up a bit.

Looking in the mirror after splashing her face with water she noticed how she was practically _glowing_. She briefly looked down on her wrist, on the spot where she had injected her nanites a few hours earlier. The area around the injection-site was a bid red and bruised, but nothing that had cause for alarm. Angela performed a quick physical exam on herself again but found nothing unusual about her stats. She had some laboratory-equipment laying around at home, nothing fancy and nothing she used often, but she decided to draw some blood and check it out through the magnification.

Apart from the slightly metallic glimmer, and slight sporadic kinetic activity, in her blood-sample, Angela found nothing out of the ordinary. With a proper examination out of the way, Angela concluded that her head-ache was probably caused by caffeine withdrawal and simple hunger.

A steady brunch, several cups of coffee, and many phone calls later, Angela checked in at the reception on the top floor of the hospital.

“Doctor? The board will see you now.” The assistant manning the desk notified her after a couple of minutes. Angela took a deep-breath and put on her most neutral expression as she stepped inside the conference room.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Ziegler.” Chairman Bracher greeted Angela as she took her seat at the short side of the conference table opposite the seven board members.

“Let us get down to business, shall we? I have a train to catch at 3.” Angela said.

“Of course. Going on a little vacation?” one of the board-members asked for pleasantries.

“I’m actually going on a study visit, if you will, to my new place of work.” Angela smiled. She tried not to be smug in answering the follow-up question:

“Oh? May I ask who has gotten the pleasure of hiring you?” Another board-member asked.

“Overwatch, actually. At their headquarters in Geneva.”

The startled expressions of several of the board-members was almost enough to break Angela’s character and make her laugh out loud; one or two faces showed surprise and a few faces glared at other board-members. What they all seemed to have in common regret at letting Angela go.

“That is great news for you, Doctor Ziegler.” Mr. Bracher managed after the initial shock had lessened. It was clear to everyone in the room that Mr. Bracher really didn’t feel that way.

“Well, they made me an offer several months ago, but I declined back then. I was still contractually bound to this hospital, after all. But I figured I could give it a shot, when I realized that I wanted to… uhm, move on to a different place of work.” Angela explained. She couldn’t help the corners of her mouth twitching up into the slightest of smug smiles.

The rest of the short meeting was strained with palpable regret clouding the far end of the room.

Angela surveyed all her documents and bank-statements as she sat on the train to Geneva two hours later. The severance-package she had been offered would more than adequately fund a loan for a new apartment close to Overwatch’s HQ, located in the center of the Diplomacy District. Because of her dedication to her work, Angela rarely had the time or need to own or appreciate much items of materialistic value, but she decided that she’d treat herself to a stroll down Rue du Rhône once everything had settled down a bit.


	3. Introductions [December 2064]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela gets a tour of the Overwatch HQ.

 

 

Geneva, Switzerland; December 2064

 

“Greetings, Doctor Ziegler!” a clean-shaven man with grey-streaked blonde hair greeted Angela as she made her way out of the Arrivals-platform of the Genève-Cornavin railway station and out onto the lobby floor. She had recognized the man from several feet away, and him holding a sign with “Dr. Ziegler” printed on it didn’t exactly worsen matters. The man was obviously Jack Morrison.

“Strike Commander Morrison,” he introduced himself, “but please call me Jack. Makes things so much more comfortable.” He smiled genuinely.

“If we’re going to be informal, then please call me Angela.” Angela insisted.

She had only ever seen the Strike Commander of Overwatch on pictures and the occasional news-reportage, where his features clearly had been donned up a bit. In real life his face had the appearance of someone who had seen more than their fair share of war and hardship. Angela supposed, pinning him in his late 40’s, that some 20, or so, years within Overwatch’s military forces would leave their mark.

“Shall we?” he asked, motioning for him and Angela to get going.

Jack Morrison had a small convoy waiting for them outside the train-station; three large SUV’s with heavily tinted windows and armored plating were hovering in a neat line against the sidewalk outside. Several armed men stood guard next to the vehicles; some more discreetly armed than others.

Angela was escorted into the back-seat of the vehicle in the middle, and Jack Morrison got in after her. As the convoy took off towards the Overwatch HQ Morrison started explaining the finer details of the position he hoped Angela would want to fill:

“Officially, the position we’re looking to fill is the Head of Medical Research. The Swiss HQ is where most of our medical research and science takes place. However, we would not be opposed to also utilizing your obvious skill as a physician and surgeon. We can certainly discuss the finer details of your contract later, but we hope you will at least consider a part-time research-position and a part-time position in our Infirmary.”

“I wouldn’t have to make much consideration with that issue,” Angela began, and at Jack’s questioning expression she added:

“That was my contract with my previous employer. I spent 30 percent of my hours with patients and could allocate the rest on my research if I so pleased.”

“And how did you find that arrangement?” Jack asked. Angela decided to throw all pretense out the window and just go straight to the point:

“What I want to do is finish up my current project. My current research. And then I want to apply that technology on saving lives first-hand. I recognize Overwatch as an opportunity to help me fund and carry out my research, and possibly even help me finds participants for when I aim to begin human trials.” As she spoke, Jack’s brow furrowed.

“You do realize that Overwatch is an active crime-fighting organization, yes? We could greatly benefit from whatever technology you can conjure up with your research.” He was phrasing himself carefully, probably to not make Angela feel steamrolled over, but she absolutely understood the underlying meaning; Overwatch did expect something in exchange, some sort of commitment from her side, if they were going to fund her research and help her with human testing.

“I graduated medical-school at 21 years of age and I have spent the years between that and now at a hospital with a greedy, cutthroat board that only speaks in money – I had plenty of strings attached with my previous contract, Jack.”

“Ah, yes. Well, you see where I am coming from then.” Jack said, his expression still a bit terse.

“I can’t say that I agree with everything Overwatch is currently doing and has done in the past, but I would be stupid not to recognize that your organization does much more good than harm in the world. If I had to choose between my previous position with all it entailed, and a position at Overwatch’s labs and Infirmary I would pick Overwatch every day of the week.” Angela said, hoping Jack could pick up on her honesty. His expression softened a bit after Angela finished, and he gave a confirming nod.

“Sounds like you and I are on the same page then. We just entered the Diplomacy District, so we’ll arrive at the HQ soon. You will receive a guest-ID, and for safety-reasons seeing as you have yet to sign a contract with us, I can only show you the Commons and other places available civilians with ID’s.”

“I understand that.” Angela said and gave a careful smile.

“Sorry for bringing an entire convoy to pick you up at the train station,” Jack apologized, giving Angela a somewhat sympathetic smile, as the convoy was escorted through a security checkpoint, “gaining enemies comes with the job.”

“I’m not used to being escorted in armed convoys, considering my previous place of work, is all.”

“The Swiss HQ serves as Overwatch’s main hub for agents, but we also have several Watchpoints all over the world. Most of the active field-agents of Overwatch is stationed here in Switzerland, however, and most of our global activity is planned, tracked and executed by agents stationed here.” Morrison explained as he checked them both in through another security checkpoint once they had exited the vehicle that had brought them to the admittedly impressive compound.

They walked for a few minutes, Jack making casual conversation about Overwatch and Angela quietly tagging along. They eventually entered what looked like a lobby of some kind, with armed guards stationed at every opening. A blue light skimmed over Angela’s and Morrison’s bodies, scanning them for any unauthorized weapons or items.

Jack handed Angela a guest-ID and motioned for her to following him down a set off stairs, leading underground and into a large, brightly lit corridor that went off in all directions.

“Here we are. This is the main-entrance for ordinary employees and civilians. Active field-agents and other military personnel have other ways to enter the complex, to minimize the military presence in the public areas.”

“Will I be stationed in Switzerland at all times?”

“Yes, that is what we want at least. Like I said we carry out most of our medical research here, and since most field-agents debrief at this compound we also need a strong, competent medical-team available here. I’ll see if I can introduce you to some of the other people on our research, and medical-teams, later.”

“What about residence?” Angela asked. Jack looked her over.

“Overwatch guarantees all field-agents and employees active at this compound a small private quarter down in the dormitories. If that is not to your liking I’m sure I can make some calls and see if I can help set up a residence for you off-site. We have a few active agents and employees who prefer to live off-site, I imagine it helps with relaxation.”

“I see. I was hoping to get ahold of an apartment of my own here in Geneva, yes.”

Jack motioned for the set of stairs next to them that led even further underground:

“Down there we have the aforementioned dormitories. Three floors, each floor has its own cantina and rec-room. Up here, to our left, you can find the actual cafeteria. Active agents and employees can eat all three meals a day for free. Let’s go this way.”

As Jack led Angela through the corridor to the cafeteria, they met a few people heading the opposite direction. Angela got a few lingering looks, mostly by people in lab-coats whom, she assumed, recognized her, while Jack received respectful salutes from every person they passed. He was clearly an appreciated Commander, Angela realized.

The cafeteria was largely empty as they arrived, a few tired-looking faces looked up at hearing the Commander’s voice, but after saluting him they returned to their meals.

“We have a gym available to all employees and agents. On weekends the cantinas offer a selection of alcoholic beverages as well, and there’s usually activities held in the rec-rooms. We’re a tight-knit group here, Doctor, but I’m positive you’ll fit right in if you choose to come work for us.”

“Where are you located? In the complex, I mean.”

“Ah, a good question. I spend most of my days in the High Command department. I can’t show you where – risk of exposing classified information, you know – but I can ask that my colleagues from HC and Intelligence come down and introduce themselves. You can reach HC from here, by going through that checkpoint over there,” Jack explained, “and up those stairs. You can also access HC directly from the lobby upstairs.”

“I think I’ll need a map to navigate with…” Angela muttered. Jack barked a laugh at her confusion.

“You can actually reach most departments from wherever down here, but some roads will result in major detours. I’ll make sure you’ll have help navigating this place when you begin your employment,” Jack explained, “back where we came down from the lobby, we took a left, remember? If you go straight ahead you’ll end up at our research-facilities and Infirmary, and if you take a right you will end up at Engineering and eventually the garages and Hangar Bay. It’s all pretty straight-forward, Doctor.”

Angela looked around, noticing signs that offered directions to every area of the base in English, German, French, Spanish and what appeared to be Arabic. Another group of people wandered past, glancing curiously at Angela and saluting their Commander. If Angela was going to be honest, the military jargon of their brief interaction didn’t exactly put her more at ease. She hadn’t really seen herself becoming an associate to a worldwide military organization any time soon, but then again – her hand had been somewhat forced in a sense.

“I can show you briefly around the Medical Research Division, but I’ll have to temporarily confiscate your electronics while we’re in there – standard security measures since you aren’t yet an employee. We might even have time to catch our Head of Genetics before she clocks out, and I’ll give you a brief introduction.” Angela visibly shone up a bit at that; another female Head of Research? Maybe she wouldn’t be just quite as lonely as she had dreaded.

Angela surrendered her combined phone and data pad and followed Morrison back through the corridor towards the stairs, and then into the medical research department of the base. Jack motioned for her to stay back while he went up to a security console. He tapped away for a few seconds on the screen, and suddenly large metal-sheets were lowered over the enormous glass-windows lining the corridor ahead of them.

“Security-measures, I’m sure you understand.” Jack explained. Angela was completely on-board, it was a given that she wasn’t allowed to witness any classified research going on at the other sides of the glass-windows. Jack resumed leading her through the now bare and quite boring corridors, until they arrived at a large reinforced metal door with a key-card reader and biometric scanner next to it. Morrison checked them in, and as they passed over the threshold of the large doors another blue light rapidly flickered over them both, scanning them. Angela mused to herself that at least they valued proper security, unlike her previous place of work.

“These are the offices. We will have a fully furnished office ready for you whenever you decide you can begin your employment. You’ll have access to a small, private lab, as well as several larger, shared labs. Your employee-ID will also allow you access to several other areas of the compound, but not all of them. Here we are.”

Angela glanced up at that, noticing the sign next to the door stating “DR. O’DEORAIN, M. HEAD OF GENETIC RESEARCH”.

“Good evening, Doctor.” Jack greeted the woman Angela assumed was this “O’Deorain”, as he swiped his ID and let them into a small office.

The surprisingly tall woman had her back to the two of them, hunched over a table supported by her arms. She seemed to be inspecting something. At Jack’s voice she bounced off the table, and quickly spun around. Judging by the irritated glint in her eyes, she seemed seconds away from whipping out a reprimand. Angela could sympathize somewhat; if the woman was conducting some research she probably hated being interrupted. That knowledge didn’t stop Angela from physically cringing a bit at the woman’s slightly aggressive demeanor, though.

Just a moment later, however, the woman seemed to take note of Angela’s presence in the room, standing partly hidden behind the Strike Commander. Her eyes zoned in on Angela’s and the annoyance on her sharp features evaporated and was replaced with surprise. Her sharp, red eyebrows rose for just a few seconds before she schooled her expression into a calm, collected mask and addressed the Commander:

“I would appreciate it if you would call ahead of your visits, instead of just barging in here when I’m working, Jack.” She told him sternly.

Her English was accented; from what little of it Angela had heard so far, the woman appeared to be Irish.

Jack, clearly un-fazed by the woman’s irritation and surprising rudeness, quickly put the woman in her place:

“I’m showing a new potential employee around, _Moira,_ and you’ll play nice while I’m doing it.” He said, a clearly authoritative tone to his voice. Angela suddenly felt like she was intruding, there was clearly some bad blood between the two. Moira shrugged casually, too casually given the recent spat, Angela thought.

“I can see that. The esteemed Doctor Angela Ziegler, if I’m not mistaken.” Doctor O’Deorain stated, her focus shifting and – almost uncomfortably so – zoning in on Angela.

Angela was a bit dumbstruck by the sheer amount of confidence that radiated from the tall redhead, and her thoughts had been occupied trying to analyze just what was going on between the Commander and the woman in front of her to stay properly in the present.

“Y-yes, that would be me.” She managed after a spell, taking a few steps towards the woman and extending her hand for a shake.

The woman extended her hand as well, and Angela managed to not wince at her cold touch. She knew it was rude to stare, but she found herself a bit entranced by the woman’s heterochromatic eyes – one a dark, clear blue and the other a surprisingly unusual color of reddish ochre. Heterochromia wasn’t considered a medical oddity any longer, but the way the woman’s eyes were so distinctly colored was certainly odd.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Read your most recent thesis of adapting the human body to nano-biotic technology. It was quite interesting. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman stated confidently, “I’m Doctor Moira O’Deorain, currently Head of Genetics here.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I’m the guest visiting after all.”

“Pardon my foul mood as you two arrived, I chalk it up to low blood sugar and a lack of progress on my current project,” the Doctor huffed a laugh, “I was just wrapping up and was about to head for dinner and then call it a night.”

Jack remained silent, clearly annoyed with the woman but trying his best not to show it in front of Angela – office drama wasn’t the best way to introduce someone new after all – which left Angela with the responsibility to further the conversation. There was an awkward pause, in which the woman’s lips pulled up into a lazy smirk.

“Oh, no that’s okay. It’s getting a bit late after all.” Angela excused the woman.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future, Doctor, if you decide to come work for Overwatch. Until then.” O’Deorain gave a discreet salute to excuse herself and left the lab.

Angela couldn’t help but turn around as the woman passed them, tracing the tall, statuesque woman purposefully striding out of the room and down the hall, her long lab coat trailing behind her. Angela subconsciously swallowed down a lump of unknown emotion lodged in her throat.

“I’m… sorry, you had to witness that, Doctor.” Jack apologized as the door behind them slid shut.

“It’s not a problem,” Angela re-assured the man, “believe me when I tell you that we had our fair share of office-drama at my old workplace, too.” The joke seemed to fly over Jack’s head, and his grim expression didn’t ease up. Clearly the whole ordeal with the defiant redheaded Doctor who oozed confidence had left him in a foul mood.

“We should get going, I still have to introduce you to some of the senior commanders in Intelligence.”

 

  
///

  


“Torbjörn!” Morrison shouted at a retreating back further down the corridor.

“What?” a heavily accented voice replied, and the figure turned around.

Again, Angela had to try hard not to stare; the man was of short stature, heavily-muscled, and sported an enormous, and quite frankly, impressive blonde beard that was tied into two large knots on his chin. Angela easily had 25 centimeters on the man’s height, and the Strike Commander probably had some 50 centimeters on him. On his back he carried two large containers made of solid metal, strapped on like a backpack, and his left arm seemed to either be crowned with a large power tool glove to which the tubes on his back seemed to be pumping molten steel, or a cybernetic replacement for his entire arm – Angela wasn’t sure which.

“I’m glad we could catch you before you clocked out.” Jack said.

“Well, that makes one of us.” The short man mumbled grumpily.

Contrary to the scalding cold woman the two had met just a few minutes earlier, the grumpy middle-age man in front of them gave a whole different impression. He wasn’t defiant for the sake of it or out of spite, he was just a grumpy person.

“This is Doctor Angela Ziegler – our newest potential recruit. She’ll be working in Research and in the Infirmary. I’m showing her around and introducing her to the core team of agents that she’s most likely to work with or bump into regularly.”

The man glanced up at Angela but didn’t say anything. Angela decided to initiate their greeting by reaching her hand out. The man took it, to Angela’s dismay coating her hand in machine-oil and grease.

“Torbjörn Lindholm, Chief Engineer of this compound’s sorry excuse for a workshop, at your service!” the man bellowed. Jack rubbed his forehead, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Torbjörn is just angry that High Command won’t approve every single crazy idea he has.”

“Crazy?! Phaw! Marvel of engineering, I say!” the man roared indignantly, his face blistering a bright red.

To Angela the whole scenario came off as bizarre and she briefly wondered if she was being set up in a prank and someone was videotaping them. She had to hide the giggle that escaped her behind the hand not smeared in grease. Something told Angela that despite the ruckus the short man was causing, he and the commander had a lot of history and worked well together.

“Torbjörn and I are both founding members of Overwatch, two of the first agents drafted for the initiative during the Omnic Crisis.” Morrison explained, turning to Angela. Well, that answered that, Angela supposed.

“Bah! I don’t care much for the limelight,” Lindholm grumbled, “Goldenboy-Jack here has always had a knack for that. I work best alone.” Morrison gave a tentative smile, at least the introduction was going much better than their last one.

“That was a queue for you to move on, in case you didn’t notice.” Chief Engineer Lindholm grumbled over his shoulder as he entered one of the labs and closed the door behind him.

“Agent Lindholm comes across as….” Angela said, falling silent at a lack of adjectives to describe him with. This earned her the Commanders first actual laugh, albeit short.

“He is, whatever you intended to describe him with. But he’s a great colleague, and he has his heart in the right place. Even if he doesn’t always do well with people. We have him to thank in large part for Overwatch being able to fully repel the Omnic threat during the war; he is a mastermind with anything mechanical.” Morrison commended the scruffy Engineer.

“Will I be working with him?”

“Not so much on the research-front, he spends most of his time in the garage and Engineering constructing… whatever it is he’s constructing. But Torbjörn is still an active field-agent, so you’ll probably patch him up in the Infirmary at some point.”

Angela was about to suggest they move on to introductions with the senior commanders, when Jack’s phone rang out. He excused himself to pick up the call.

“Morrison. Yes, I am. No, well. Yeah, we’re on our way. You can come down to the cafeteria, Ana. I’ll see you soon, bye.”

“That was the Head of Intelligence, she’s somewhat eager to meet you. Come, we’ll meet up with her in the cafeteria.

Jack waved someone over as they entered the cafeteria again, a middle-aged woman by what Angela could discern from the distance between them. The woman walked up to them.

“Ana, this is Doctor Angela Ziegler, she’s come for a little study visit before hopefully signing her contract with us and moving here to Geneva. Doctor Ziegler, this is Ana Amari, Lieutenant-General of Overwatch and my Second-in-Command.” Jack introduced them.

The woman before Angela was dressed in a crisp blue military shirt emblazoned with the Overwatch insignia, and black cargo pants with matte black laced up military boots. On her head she wore a blue beret also decorated with the Overwatch symbol. Judging by the creases in her richly tanned, latte-colored skin and her thick black hair streaked with silvery-grey Angela pinned her age at around 50. The woman also had a tattoo below her eye. It took a while for Angela to place the symbol, but soon realized it was an Eye of Horus tattoo crowning the actual area around her left eye.

“Greetings, Doctor Ziegler. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” General-Lieutenant Amari said, giving Angela a genuine smile.

“General-Lieutenant Amari—” Jack began, but was interrupted by said person:

“Please, Jack. Let’s be less formal,” Ana complained, and turning to Angela said, “between all the formality we have to present when dealing with the Overwatch Director, the UN, and the press, I like to unwind and go with an informal jargon whenever I can.” The woman’s voice had a thick Middle-Eastern accent, and judging by that and her tattoo the leap to assume she was of Egyptian descent wasn’t long.

“Fine, Ana. And here I’m trying to be professional.” Jack mock-complained. Him interacting with Ana was the most relaxed Angela had seen him all day.

“So, Angela. How are you liking the prospect of working with us?” Ana asked.

“I must admit that I am impressed so far. I dreaded walking into a full-blown military base, but so far you’ve all given me a very hospitable impression.” Angela joked. Ana laughed at her.

“I served for years in the Egyptian Military before I was drafted as a founding-member for Overwatch back in the 2040’s. Compared to their military structure Overwatch is practically a kindergarten.” Ana remarked dryly.

Jack didn’t look as pleased with the comparison as Ana did, but it was all in good nature.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, I have some things I need to attend to. It was a pleasure to meet you, Angela. I hope you decide to come work with us.”

“No worries, Ana. We were pretty much done anyway. I’m gonna let the Doctor go back home now and contemplate the contract we drew up for her,” Jack laughed.

“It was a pleasure, Ana. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Angela bid the older woman farewell.

“I’ll whip up an escort for you to get back to the train-station. I’m thinking we can talk next week, is that enough time for you to decide and begin your move here?”

“Yes, that should be good enough. I’ll keep in touch.”

Angela and the Strike Commander went their separate ways at the intersection of the stairs leading up to the lobby, and not long thereafter an armed man in a suit came to escort her out of the compound and follow her back to the train station.


	4. The Village of Cherry Blossoms [April 2066]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mayyyyybe sliiiight body horror in the end.

Kyoto, Japan; April 2066

 

“So, how did you like it?” Moira’s accented voice asked.

The redheaded doctor and Angela were shuffling through the crowd of academics and scientists exiting the Memorial Auditorium on the Kyoto University campus following a very interesting medical conference.

The companies and associations organizing said conference had invited Overwatch to attend. That could be considered a given; Overwatch was, after all, one of the most prominent organizations in the world when it came to medical research. Much in part thanks to Dr. Angela Ziegler accepting the position of Head of Medical Research about one and a half years prior.

Angela was globally respected in the academic community, but so was Dr. Moira O’Deorain. Despite that the latter’s field of science wasn’t given the same type of attention as Dr. Ziegler’s, they were both considered VIP-attendees.

And so, Angela and Moira found themselves in Kyoto, Japan in the spring of 2066.

“It was very interesting, I found the segment about organically adaptable cybernetics especially exciting.”

“Mmm,” Moira agreed, “but a functioning prototype of the technology is surely years away, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m inclined to agree. Considering the amount of money the funders for the project are sinking into it, I’m surprised they haven’t gone bankrupt already.”

Moira laughed at that.

“Makes the funds sunk into our respective projects look like pocket-change, does it not?”

They both made casual small talk as they made their way out from the university’s campus.

“What time is it?” Angela asked.

“A little after 7 PM. Why?”

“Well, our flight isn’t going to be available until 11-something.”

“That’s unfortunate. We could perhaps find whatever substitutes for a pub around here and go for a drink or two? I feel inclined to kill for a tumbler of whiskey at this point.” Moira lamented. Angela snickered at her.

Moira was very Irish that way; she most certainly had a thing for fine Irish whiskey.

To Angela the idea was tempting, she could certainly go for a glass of wine to relax from the afternoon but considering their surroundings she figured that finding a pub that served premium Irish whiskey in the outskirts of urban Kyoto, Japan would be a tedious task. Besides, if Moira really wanted to drink that smoky, sweet bordering on burning, liquid she preferred, she could just as well do that at the airport before their flight home.

“What? You have some other idea, _angel_?” Moira asked at Angela’s silence. Angela could discern a suggestive tone in the older woman’s voice, but she decided against commenting on it. To be honest, Angela had many ideas on what they could do until they were picked up by their private, Overwatch requested jet – but she knew that most of those ideas weren’t professional and shouldn’t be voiced out loud or even hinted at. Her and Moira’s relationship was a purely professional one that occasionally dipped into a platonic one, but no more than that.

Angela hated that Moira had taken to calling her by that nickname. It had all sprung from a simple administrative mistake at the Swiss HQ many months ago, but Moira had been there to tease Angela about it ever since. Thankfully, she only used the nickname when they were in private – she sympathized with Angela’s wish to keep up her professional appearance.

“Do you know of the village Hanamura? The Village of Cherry Blossoms?” Angela asked. With each word she spoke, Moira looked increasingly skeptical. That at least proved that she had heard of the place.

“What if—humor me, Moira. What if we went there? It’s a ten-minute drive from here. I’ve always wanted to see the cherry blossoms and the Hanamura Shrine firsthand!”

Moira gave her young colleague a sideways glance, but upon seeing the genuine smile that adorned her face Moira decided that she couldn’t say no to her. Even if she’d rather sit down with a tumbler of whiskey and a pack of Hamlets at a pub.

“I didn’t have you pinned for someone interested in Japanese culture.” Moira mused out loud a few minutes after they had hailed a cab and climbed in.

“It’s a recent venture of mine. I started reading about it on my spare time during my last year at University. Between then and now I simply haven’t had much time to indulge in it, much less take a vacation trip to Japan.”

“So, what exactly is the charm of an old village walled up and crammed inside urban Kyoto?”

Moira was very sterile, or perhaps boring, that way; she didn’t see sentimental value, history, or customs the same way Angela did. She knew from what the redhead had told her that she had a decent eye for art – specifically modern surrealism, but customs and tradition held very little appeal for the older woman. To her, Angela knew, tradition was hampering evolution and religion only served as shackles for human ingenuity and advancement. Angela wasn’t religious, but she held respect for what older generations and foreign cultures had viewed and accomplished through their respective lenses and tools.

 

///

 

“Hanamura wasn’t always ‘walled up and crammed’ within downtown Kyoto, Moira.” Angela sighed as they were approaching the village a few minutes later. She didn’t have time to elaborate due to the taxi driver interrupting her:

“I’m not driving into the village,” he said and steered the hovercar towards the curb and put it into park, “just walk past these walls and you’re inside the village.”

Angela exited the vehicle. Moira settled their bill with a deep frown on her face, and as she herself exited she turned around to find Angela already some 50 yards away. Moira hurried towards the large stone walls that separated the centuries old village of Hanamura from urbanized Kyoto.

“Angela! Wait up,” the tall doctor called after the shorter one who had already made her way past the gates of the village, “Don’t you find it strange that the driver wouldn’t takes us into the village?” Moira questioned as she caught up to Angela.

“Well, Hanamura _is_ home to clan of assassin-mercenaries whom also deal in weapons and drugs.” Angela quipped with exaggerated cheer while Moira visibly balked.

“ _Relax._ That was a joke, Moira. The Japanese authorities cracked down on the clan in the late 20 th century, they haven’t been active here for almost a century.”

Moira un-froze but didn’t look especially convinced as the two of them walked through the Cherry tree-lined avenue leading towards the village square. The sun had begun setting and the small streets were lit up by paper-lanterns hanging from the slanted Japanese architecture that made up most buildings in the village.

Angela felt overwhelmed by its beauty and stark contrast to the bustling city of Kyoto that surrounded them. Somehow, Hanamura felt like the focal point of everything ancient left in modern-day Kyoto. Or Japan, for that matter.

Hanamura had once been entirely separate from Kyoto – at least a 40-minute drive from the city-border. But with the large economic advances in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, before the Omnic Crisis, came equally proportioned expansions of cities. So, Kyoto eventually made its way to the border of Hanamura – and after large protests from its inhabitants and others interested in preserving ancient Japanese culture, the village was left alone while the expansion of Kyoto swallowed and surrounded it on all sides. Angela found it sad.

The blonde doctor eventually came to a halt, and Moira accidentally bumped into her from behind.

“How about you warn me ne—" Moira began, but was promptly cut off by the Swiss woman.

“This is so beautiful…” Angela said in awe, glancing around them at their surroundings.

Moira took a moment to look around herself, and she found the architecture aesthetically pleasing albeit impractical in every sense of the word. She would have found the scent of blossoming cherry trees and the small shops and old wooden buildings around them quite nice too, if it wasn’t for the ominous feeling in her gut that she couldn’t seem to shake.

“Angela.” Moira said, and something in her voice made Angela snap out of her awe-struck rant about Hanamura’s history and the many other little curiosities that she seemed to know of the hamlet.

“What?” Angela said, glaring at Moira. She was almost convinced that the older woman was only grappling for excuses to get out of the town and back to the city. The fact that Moira seemed so keen on avoiding a nostalgic trip back in history and learning something about a foreign culture made Angela even more determined to make the woman partake.

“Don’t you find it strange that we haven’t seen another human being here…?” Moira questioned.

Angela looked around them, and upon spotting a middle-aged man – apparently drunk, judging by his stumbling down the street – pointed at him triumphantly and with exaggerated cheerfulness quipped:

“There! A living human being, Moira, do you see?”

Moira huffed and gave the young, excited doctor a tired stare. She had no time to react before Angela grabbed her hand and pulled her along the street, up towards an admittedly impressive stone wall and enormous, open wooden gate.

“Isn’t it just breathtaking?” Angela sighed.

“Is this it? The shrine?”

“Yes. The area in front of us, past the doors are the shrine courtyard, with the large bell there in the pagoda. The buildings around it used to house the monks who lived here, and in its later years the Shimada Clan – is the rumor anyways. The actual shrine is a bit further in. Let’s go.”

They had yet to walk past the wooden gate separating the shrine’s courtyard from the rest of the village, and out of nervousness Moira took a glance at their surroundings again. Their position offered Moira a clear view into a neighboring building, through its window. An old woman stood on the other side of it, apparently observing the two doctors. When she saw that Moira had noticed her, an expression of fear shot across her face, and she quickly pulled back. A paper-blinder descended the window, and not a moment later similar blinders covered the other windows in the house. Moira was about to tell Angela about the bizarre event and insist they leave, when she again became aware that Angela had already hurried ahead.

“Ziegler! There is something fishy going on here, we need to leave. Now.” Moira puffed as she caught up to the doctor – who had just finished looking over the enormous brass bell that hung from the roof of the pagoda in the courtyard. At hearing another of Moira’s whining lamentations, Angela whipped around with a serious and irritated glare to her face.

“ _Scheisse!_ If you are so keen to leave feel free to call a cab for yourself immediately. I’m tired of hearing you moan about how boring this is. Remind me to never bring you alo—” Angela reprimanded the older woman, who wasn’t late to scowl in reply – but suddenly interrupted herself. Her silence sparked Moira to soften up:

“Angela…?”

“There’s blood on the wall. Behind you,” she said, pointing a finger. Moira turned around; something in Angela’s tone suggested that she wasn’t playing a prank or something on her. And indeed, as Moira turned around she saw the streaks of blood adorning the wall of the pagoda – shaped like bloodied fingers had been drawn against it.

“It’s fresh.” Moira noted as she swiped a finger through it, collecting some of the semi-dried blood on her fingertip. She turned to Angela again.

“What do you think?” she said, out of a lack of other reasonable reactions. Clearly someone had been hurt nearby and could very well still be in the vicinity. Or worse still, a possible perpetrator could still be hanging around the courtyard, eager to get rid of any potential witnesses.

“I think someone is hurt nearby, and that we are possibly in danger.” Angela said, and with a dry note to it Moira thought to herself that great minds think alike.

“I think we should get the hell out of here, _like I’ve been saying since we got here,_ and call the police.” Moira urged. Angela gave her a skeptical look.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m an MD. I save lives on a near-daily basis. If there is someone around here that is hurt I need to find them and help them.”

That was true, Angela was a practicing physician. Moira however, she had basic medical training, and had taken a few courses in field-trauma medicine, but she wasn’t an actual MD. She had several PhD’s, but those didn’t really come with the practical know-how of how to save a life. Angela of course knew this, despite what she said. She had two PhD’s herself, and a general surgeon’s license.

“Hello, is there anyone there? Are you hurt?” Angela called out. Moira whipped around and threw her hand across Angela’s mouth.

“For crying out loud Ziegler, keep you voice down,” she hissed, “you never know if there’s a maniac out there waiting to kill us!” She ignored Angela’s disgruntled expression and let her hand fall from her mouth.

“Look, there is more blood over there – on the wall leading up to the shrine.” Angela whispered.

The red of the blood stood in stark contrast to the white stone wall. Simultaneously they both snuck over to the newly-discovered blood, this trace being droplets splattered over a small area, and an indentation of a bloody fist into the wall itself. It was clear that some sort of struggle had recently taken place there. Moira quickly fished up her phone and called for police and an ambulance. While on the phone, she failed to grab Angela’s arm as the latter snuck across the courtyard through the smaller gate separating the yard from the shrine.

“Ziegler!” she hissed as soon as she could, but the younger woman didn’t seem to hear her, and before long she had disappeared into the large vaulted entrance of the Hanamura Shrine.

Moira weighed her coming actions in her head; she could either wait there on police to show up, potentially unable to help Angela if something were to happen and possibly putting herself in more danger by being alone, or she could make a run for it across the courtyard and follow Angela. Perhaps to her own death, if worse came to worst. Moira decided on the last option and quickly ran up to the shrine.

“ _Dea-Dhia_ , what is that smell?” Moira exclaimed as she entered the shrine, having to fight a sudden gag reflex. She had expected Angela to be a few paces away, so she nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing her voice so close to her on her right side. She looked there, and saw Angela kneeling in front of what Moira assumed was a human body, at a lower floor of the shrine:

“It’s burnt flesh.” She stated, and in the next sentenced pulled up her direct voice-comm with Overwatch Intelligence and requested an emergency medical evacuation at the Hanamura Shrine in Kyoto, Japan.

Moira made her way down to Angela while the young doctor was animatedly talking to Overwatch HQ – by the sounds of it directly with Morrison – and explaining their situation. Moira overheard Morrison approving evac and sending a request for a medical team being dispatched from the Watchpoint on Hokkaido Island.

As the older woman, whom had grown perhaps too comfortable working in a lab the last few years, got a view of the body next to Angela she very nearly turned around and hurled.

“It’s… I’ve never seen burns like these. They’re not conventional burns from a fire, I’m sure. But they don’t appear chemical either. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.” Angela mumbled.

Indeed. In front of the two women laid a body so severely damaged that only a few facial features and the remaining tufts of green hair on his head could be used as clear identifiers. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, some quite serious. What was the most horrifying of the state of him, was the fact that three of his limbs had been severed in various places; his left arm at the elbow, his right leg at the knee, and his left leg in the middle of his shin. The cuts appeared clean instead of jagged, which to the two doctors suggested that whatever had cut off the young mans legs had been quite sharp.

“The only reason he is still alive is that whatever burned him seemed to have cauterized some of the wounds he sustained as his limbs were cut off. There is significant blood-loss, blood-loss not many would survive, in any case – but we might just be able to get him to an emergency care unit at the Watchpoint.

“Will not the Japanese ambulance get here before Overwatch?” Moira asked, reeling from the apparent rage the one who had maimed the man before them must have felt in the moment of the crime.

“Maybe. But I think I know who this man is, and that his well-being would be in Overwatch’s best interest. If we leave him for the Japanese authorities, I doubt he’ll live very long; this was clearly an assassination attempt. Morrison has been briefed and is handling the diplomacy.”

“Who is this man then, if I may ask?”

“I can’t confirm without a DNA sample, but my guess is that this man is Genji Shimada, the youngest heir of the Shimada Clan – whatever little of it that’s left.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Favors [April 2066]

 

Geneva, Switzerland; April 2066

“What are we looking at here?” Strike Commander Jack Morrison barked as he met up with the two doctors and their accompanying medical team in the Hangar of the HQ in Geneva.

“Severe third- and second-degree burns over a large part of the victim’s body, most prominently on the frontal part of his torso and face. Three severed limbs and severe cuts and abrasions to much of his remaining body.”

Gabriel Reyes walked up to them, tiredly rubbing his eyes – no doubt having been off-duty and sleeping.

“What happened, kid got run over by a lawnmower or something?” his gravelly voice asked.  Angela gave him a terse smile and with the help of Dr. O’Deorain and the other medical staff carted off the sealed bio pod containing the maimed body of Genji Shimada, heir of the Shimada Clan.

“Victim successfully identified at the Japanese Watchpoint as Genji Shimada, resident of the Kyoto Prefecture in Japan, and heir to the Shimada Clan.” Angela rattled off.

“Wait, _that_ Shimada Clan?” Reyes asked, surprised. Angela didn’t have time for any type of reminiscing or conversation apart from what mattered right now; saving the life of the injured person in front of her.

They quickly made their way to the Infirmary, and Angela got to work immediately. Moira O’Deorain, whom had accompanied Angela during the discovery of the body and its entire aftermath, volunteered to help with whatever she could until they could get a proper team of MD’s to assist. Apparently, things had been calm enough on the HQ for most staff to be off-duty. It also happened to be the middle of the night.

Eventually, as Angela sealed and sterilized the room in preparation for surgery, Moira was escorted out.

The young surgeon mentally prepared herself for a long and tedious surgery. She had managed to stabilize the man at the Japanese Watchpoint, by identifying him and injecting him with a shot of her nanites. Said Watchpoint had lacked most of the advanced equipment Angela’s nanobiotic treatment required, so she had had a tough time keeping the man stabilized until the recon jet sent from the Swiss HQ could reach them and escort them to base.

However, there was a lot of work left to be done. Angela doubted she could re-attach any of his lost limbs considering the amount of time that had passed and the condition of the man’s body. His severely burned flesh – burns whose nature utterly confounded Angela – limited how well his limbs would heal if the re-attachment even took in the first place. The only remaining, rational decision was to amputate what tissue was left, to make prosthetics possible later.

 

///

 

Wiping her brow as she exited the surgery, Angela had barely walked five steps before she bumped into someone. Jack Morrison.

“Ziegler, what’s the situation?” he asked.

“He is stable for now, but his condition is still critical. The coming 48 hours are crucial, and it could honestly go either way from here.”

“Did you know who he was when you found him?” Jack asked. Angela assumed he needed to know the chain of events to write a report. She didn’t even want to think about what a diplomatic hassle it must be for a worldwide organization like Overwatch to step in and take up the medical care of civilian, just like that. Not to mention the report Angela would probably have to write herself.

“I had my suspicions, but it was confirmed after I ran a DNA sample.”

“How?”

Angela contemplated her answer; how _had_ she known…? She supposed it had been a logical assumption based on what physical traits Angela had noticed; Genji Shimada was after all a somewhat public figure over in Japan – a trust fund billionaire playboy with a dirty family-history, if the media had their way. Not to mention the fact that he had been found at the Hanamura Shrine, the old base for his disgraced and dismantled clan. Angela also supposed that her gut-feeling had contributed. In any case, medical forensics had confirmed her theory.

“Many factors, but most of all I trusted my gut. I’ll write a full report later, after I get some rest.”

“I understand you’re tired, Doctor. Just one more thing: Reyes brought to my attention some very… _delicate_ details that I figured you should be privy to considering you have taken up Mr. Shimada’s care. Blackwatch, our covert-ops division which Reyes is Commander of, has secretly been investigating several Japanese authorities and their connections to criminal gangs. A particular name has popped up in their investigations multiple times: Shimada. Action has been taken, but the Shimada Clan, or its affiliates, has their claws deeply hooked within the Japanese legal system. We’re talking moles, bribes, sudden ’disappearances’ and so forth.”

“Is that really possible? Haven’t the Shimada Clan been dismantled and inactive for decades?” Angela asked, shocked at the information.

“It would appear to be the opposite. They probably went even deeper underground once the Japanese authorities started cracking down on their activities in the late 20th century.”

“And why do I need to know this?” Angela asked, jumping straight to the point. She had an idea of why, but she needed to hear it firsthand from Morrison himself.

“Because if the Shimada-boy pulls through, Blackwatch has been granted exclusive access to him and all the information he can share.”

“So, you’re saying the reason I should save his life is because Reyes needs to interrogate him later?” Angela asked, a skeptical and somewhat defiant tone in her voice. Something dark came over Morrison’s expression, and for a moment Angela almost regretted speaking her mind.

“Listen, Angela. You know that Blackwatch’s activities are highly classified. You’re not privy to that information. In most cases, not even I am. Reyes gets his orders directly from the UN and the Board of Directors, bypassing my jurisdiction. I have very little control over Reyes and his squad, and even less to say about what they do or don’t do. I suggest you just roll with this one and try not to stick your head up too high. Reyes will seek you out later. Go get some rest.” Morrison cautioned, and turned on his heel.

 

///

 

“Ziegler! Get up!” someone shouted behind the locked door of the on-call sleeping quarters in the Infirmary. A series of sharp knocks followed.

Angela groggily squinted her eyes open. She didn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone making her way to the on-call room in the first place. She glanced at her clock, stunned to find that it had been seven hours since she had clocked out from the surgery of Mr. Shimada. She must have been truly exhausted.

“Yes, yes – I’m coming!” she hollered as the knocks grew in force. By now she had deciphered that it was Moira who had woken her up.

“You left your pager in your office, I only found it after it repeatedly kept bugging me during my study. I think your patient is awake.”

At that, Angela practically flew up from the cot and jumped into her coat and gear. She remembered what Morrison had said earlier, and with urgency she realized that she needed to get to Mr. Shimada before Reyes did.

Angela had nothing against Reyes, per sé. He was dutiful, responsible and highly skilled as a soldier from what Angela had heard. But he was also ruthlessly efficient, and of strong character – in some respects perhaps a bit too efficient and strong headed. With that said, Angela had witnessed him relax in the rec-room, during weekends or when he was off-duty, socializing with many of the other active Overwatch agents; most of whom seemed to deeply respect him.

However, Angela figured that Reyes would want to get information out of the young Shimada as quickly and efficiently as possible, and if it was one thing she was certain of it was that Mr. Shimada would not be able to endure any type of interrogation in his current state. If he was even cognizant to begin with.

“Sorry I was unavailable, what happened?” Angela asked the attending nurse as she entered the room in which Mr. Shimada was recovering. A quick check of the monitors and his vitals revealed he was at least still alive. Upon closer inspection she realized his eyes were vaguely open, and he seemed conscious.

“He woke up about an hour ago,” the nurse said, “I decided to administer morphine for his pain. He’s conscious now, but we haven’t gotten him to communicate in any way yet.”

Angela walked up to the bed and the heavily bandaged body that rested in it.

“Hello. My name is Angela Ziegler, I’m your attending physician. Do you know where you are, Mr. Shimada?” Angela spoke as she reached him.

She pulled up her pocket flashlight and checked pupillary responses, which gave her some cause for worry that the Shimada’s injuries had left him partly blind. Probably the burns, judging by the fact that his eyelids had been heavily damaged and unsalvageable. The nurses on rotation had been responsible for routinely wetting his eyes with eye-drops ever since the surgery. The man’s eyes lazily drifted off towards where Angela stood.

“Do you know where you are or what happened to you?”

It took several moments, but eventually the man’s mouth opened to try and speak:

“...Zo…?” he wheezed. Clearly his larynx and possibly his vocal-chords had suffered severe damage, judging by the state of his voice. Unable to hear him, Angela leaned closer.

“…Hanz…o?” what he said made no sense to Angela. If it was a person or place he was referring to, Angela had never heard of it before.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Do you remember who you are?”

“…Gh-enji.” He coughed out, followed by a painful whine as his jerking motions teared on his flesh and his bandages.

“Try not to speak. Here, write answers to my questions on this pad.” Angela suggested, and held it down to him. The process was slow, but after a minute or so he finished scribbling down what he needed using Angela’s pen.

‘Shimada’. ‘Dead’. ‘Hanamura’. And what appeared to be the kanji for ‘older brother’, filled Angela’s pad as she retrieved it. It wasn’t clear in which order the words were supposed to be interpreted, or even if they were truly relevant at all, but it was something to go on at least.

Angela didn’t have time to ask anything else before the door to the room unceremoniously was flung open and heavy footsteps walked in. She wasn’t surprised to see Gabriel Reyes standing there as she turned around.

“He’s conscious?”

“Yes, but—”

“Great. I’ll need to ask him some questions, so you and the nurses can step out for the moment.” Reyes ordered. Even if he wasn’t directly Angela’s commander, seeing as they technically worked for two separate organizations when it came down to it, she still felt that she should probably listen to him due to his status as a senior officer. Angela swallowed nervously.

“The nurses can leave, but I demand to be present while you interrogate him.”

“Interrogate…?” Reyes questioned. Angela looked him in the eyes and fought not to flinch.

“Fine. You can stay. I’m not going to interrogate him. Yet, anyways. I’m gonna offer him a deal.”

“He can barely speak, he has suffered severe damage to his vocal-chords and larynx. Judging by pupillary response his vision is severely impaired, and he will most likely go blind. You’ll find it quite difficult to communicate with him in his current state.”

“He can still hear, right?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” Reyes breezed past, “I’ll only need a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ from him. Or, I suppose, a nod or shake of the head. All he’s gotta do is listen. And regarding you, what I say here in this room is going to stay in this room, you are bound by your NDA with Overwatch, but you have no such thing with me and my squad. What I need from you is a promise, and we’re good to go.”

Something told Angela it would be in her best interest to accept Reyes’s terms, and like Morrison had cautioned earlier “just roll with it”.

“I’ll keep whatever happens here confidential, that I swear.”

“Perfect,” Reyes said, and turned his attention to the Shimada in the bed, “now, Mr. Shimada. I’m here to offer you a deal. I know who you are, and I know about your clan. I know you’re not active in it, but I also know you have ties with several key-members. Most notably the Head of the clan and its Elders.” he began.

“My name is Gabriel Reyes, and I represent a secret, covert-ops unit run by the UN. We’ve known that the Shimada’s never truly ceased their activities, and because we have proof that they are supplying munitions to several different terrorist-groups globally we’ve been after them for quite some time. Problem is, they keep slithering out of our grasp. I suspect someone in the clan tried to clear you out of the way, what with trying to turn you into a piece of sushi, am I correct?” as Gabriel went on with his monologue, the young Shimada’s eyes became increasingly attentive.

“Now, what I’m offering you is top-notch medical-care and recovery – bringing you as close as possible to your past abilities, future protection from your clan, as well as a good chance at revenge against the one who did this to you. Call it a favor, if you will.”

“…cosssst?” the young man in the bed wheezed.

“I see I didn’t lose you there. All that, in exchange for you working with us to dismantle and wipe out the Shimadas’ criminal empire and its affiliates. I’ll do you a favor, you do me favor. We need insider-information that we believe only a Shimada can offer us, and if you by any chance would regain adequate physical ability in the future we can look into hiring you as a… _consultant_ later, to whatever capacity that will be possible.”

Angela handed the man her pad again, when it became apparent that he wanted to write something down.

“Dying. Nothing to offer.” The pad said.

“Are you aware that you are within the care of Overwatch, Mr. Shimada? Overwatch employs some of the world’s leading experts within medicine. There is a very good chance that you’ll be able to recover and live a fulfilling life, with the help of the modern medicine and technology they can offer you. You have nothing to lose with this deal, Mr. Shimada.”

Here, Angela decided to step in and contribute with some medical information that she doubted Reyes was equipped to convey:

“Mr. Shimada, your recovery will take considerable time. But with the help of prosthetics I believe we can offer you a decent quality of life in the future. Depending on what Reyes here deems reasonable, we can even look into visual aid for your failing eyesight, and possibly even some type of voice prosthesis to enable you to speak normally again.”

Angela expected Reyes to give her a disapproving look for interrupting him, and she found herself surprised at the terse but seemingly grateful nod she received instead.

“So, do we have a deal? Just nod or shake your head.”

The following few moments were tense, to say the least. In Angela’s professional, medical opinion she didn’t consider her patient in the best state to make the decision Reyes laid out in front of him. But getting Reyes to back off for the moment would be nigh impossible, she suspected. Besides, the young Shimada would have to come to a decision regarding his medical care in the close future regardless.

“Deal.” Genji Shimada said and nodded his head.

Angela had a lot of work ahead of her in getting the young, maimed man back on his feet as promised.

**Author's Note:**

> fenk u for reading fren


End file.
